For the most part, I don’t bother with any of that Spanx bullshit — I just make people deal with my fat. But this is delightful, and that IS a bomb-ass Princess-grade dress.
(For the record, I would wear the SPECIALEST of undergarments for Stephen Colbert once he takes over. And then I would just sit there in my fancy Underoos while he read to me from Tolkien novels, because his wife is adorable and I couldn’t/wouldn’t homewreck that.)
Oh. Well, apparently I have deep-seated issues with being called “Princess” by a romantic prospect. Gotta love a fun and unexpected (funexpected?) fit of rage.
Maybe I’m just bitter that I don’t have a tiara and a big, frilly dress. Or maybe my dad calls me Princess, so it’s creepy. (See also: I’m no longer an 8-year-old girl, and I’m pretty fuck far from a princess.)